Before Hogwarts was Made

PaMuggles

Story Summary:
How did the Magical world educate its youngsters before there was a Hogwarts? Follow one girl on her journey into magic, and into the Gryffindor family.

Chapter 01

Posted:
07/28/2006
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694




"Before the First Stone was laid" by PaMuggles.

900 AD

Lord Evens was dragging Branwen down the steps. The child cried, and screamed but none of it mattered. Branwen knew it was her fault. She had been warned, it had been her last chance and she had lost it. She never meant for strange things to happen to the people around her, but she always had a way of doing just that, making odd things happen. She had some awareness that she was doing magic, but that knowledge never seemed to be able to arm her with the ability to control it.

Lord Evens perpetually had his eyes on her, and he alone seemed to understand that things were in some way her fault. Though not entirely, he was more aware than she was that Branwen didn't have control of her abilities. It didn't stop him from blaming her for any strange occurrence on the estate and not all of them were her doing. A few times when she was little she had sworn her mother had done the same odd things Branwen herself did from time to time. Lord Evens always had his eyes on her mother too.

Branwen knew. She had the same bright red hair of Evens, same green eyes. It was the common joke in the house kitchens and seemingly the whole countryside about the local Lord's tastes. You would think that having a father who's the Lord of the estate would improve her station, but Branwen knew better. Though relations like those between her mother and the Lord were common it didn't change the fact the she and her mother were slaves.

For more than a thousand years slavery was common punishment throughout the world. Those who committed petty crimes, fought on losing sides in wars, or, as in Branwen's grandfather's case, owed a debt which could not be paid were often subjected to slavery and servitude. Despite the fact that her grandfather's debt had long been expunged, she and her mother remained slaves, and it could no doubt continue for generations long past any memory of the original offense.

For her, Branwen's offenses seemed to occur daily. The master's son, her own half brother, often taunted her. But while he threw insults or stones at her, or just hit her for the fun of it, sometimes things would happen to Leofric. Once while he was verbally abusing her he wound up with a strange foaming at the mouth which only appeared when he attempted to speak to her. Sometimes rocks he threw in her direction had a way of swerving around and hitting him instead, or, as had happened recently, while he was chasing her with a stick quite as large as she was, wound up hanging upside down in a tree with no memory of getting there.

The Master always had a way of explaining these occurrences. An illness, odd or powerful winds crossing their way, a trick of light. His word for the locals was law so everyone accepted his explanations, but for Branwen there was always punishment. He never hurt her, he was too afraid for that, but there were other ways he could put fear into her. There were threats to her, to her mother or anything else that she valued. Despite it all Branwen was unable to stop the strange acts of magic from happening. Her protests that she didn't actuallydo anything fell on deaf ears until Evens had had enough.

He pulled her by her arm, her little body stumbling as she half tried to get away. He kept cursing and yelling. Half of the things he said she didn't even understand but those that she did terrified her. He was calling her a witch. And in those days, that could mean only one thing. They reached the bottom cellar, and Lord Evens opened the trap to the little root store and threw the child negligently into the space scarcely bigger than a closet.

"This is it for you girl. I've tried and tried to stamp it out of you, but you just won't have it, will you! Well, it's your own fault now. The church is just going to have to sort you out for me!"

Branwen was crying as he shut the trap. She barely heard him bolt the lock, his sentence likely meant death for her. Twice already her mother had been able to plead for her daughter but Branwen knew that it would be no good this time. Today she had done it in front of half the women of the house, and her fledgling use of magic had been beyond explanation. She was starting to wish that she had just died then, rather than waiting here, huddling in the dark.

She didn't like the dark, not that any child did. No matter who you are, no one likes being stuck in a dark room for hours on end for things that they couldn't control. If only she had just ignored the threat, tried not to do anything, maybe it all would have worked out. But she knew it wasn't true. She or someone else would have died if she hadn't tried to do magic. For a reward, Branwen would probably be put to death for being a witch just for trying to help.

It had started as a simple walk through the woods to collect mushrooms. She was still learning how to tell the good ones apart from the poisons and the older women of the household had to check over all the ones she picked. It should have been a pleasant late Fall outing, but it quickly turned dangerous. Branwen, old Allas and one of the little girls of the house were somewhat apart from the others, as the trio moved more slowly than the rest. Most of the women of the household were out in the woods that day. Branwen and her group had gone in a fair ways when they realized that they were being hunted.

A small group of wolves was nearby. For the most part they avoided humans, preferring smaller prey, but today they were very hungry. Generally, an old woman and two small girls would have been easy prey, that is, if one of them hadn't been a witch. Branwen's first instinct was to scream and run, but that would be death to the others who had no chance to flee. They backed up to a large tree behind them. Allas scooped up the little one and thrust her up on a branch while she and Branwen climbed up another. Four wolves howled hungrily and circled the girls in the tree. The three yelled and cursed at the animals, more to draw attention to the situation and call for help than to actually scare the wolves away.

Before help could arrive Branwen was forced to act. Not able to hold onto her limb any longer, Allas fell from her protective spot in the trees. She screamed and cowered in fear as two of the wolves advanced on her. Branwen screamed, distracting the animals from the old woman. It seemed to work, and without ever knowing how, her screams turned into an earsplitting siren. The wolves stopped for a moment, but despite the racket of her yelling, pressed on towards to old woman.

Branwen jumped down from the tree and started throwing rocks and sticks at the wolves. At this precise moment help had begun to arrive, but for Branwen it just meant that everybody saw her do it. She could think of nothing else she could do, unable to fight such a large animal, so she concentrated, trying to figure how she could shrink the wolves. Every time she hit one with a stone, the animals would transform into tiny miniature versions of a wolf. Not a pup, for the Lord could manage to explain that one, but tiny and perfect recreations of the fully-grown animals. As if that was not enough, every time she did the wolf would briefly erupt in purple flames before shrinking before their eyes.

Before Branwen knew it there were twenty people standing around her. The women of the house and several of the young men all with bows in hand, most of them pointed at her. No one said anything, and Branwen didn't know what to do. There was no way she or Lord Evens could explain this one away. Everyone knew she had done magic.

"I had to do something," the child said in a quiet, exasperated breath.

That was how the Lord found them. Perhaps it would have been better if she hadn't done anything, Branwen briefly thought. She knew that it wasn't true though. If not then, then sooner or later she would have blatantly used magic. It had been too long since people lost respect for magic. Centuries had gone by since everyone knew of the wizard Merlin and his attempts to help the good king Arthur. Those who still followed the old ways and gods like her mother still respected sorcerers and sorceresses. To the members of the new and powerful church, they were just witches. It had been only three hundred years since St. Augustine had come to England to convert the isle nation and the changes to the land had been great. Among those changes was the dreaded hunt for witches.

At this time, the term Witch could refer to both men and women. Branwen hated this word, for people like her it meant persecution and possibly death. Of course most of the countless thousands of women burned as witches had no magical abilities whatsoever. A girl could be sent to the stake for as little as having red hair. In Branwen's case, she was twice guilty.

Branwen didn't know how long she was in that small cellar. The darkness left no clue as to whether it was day or night. After seemingly an eternity, a woman from the kitchen brought her a small portion of food . She tried to ask her what was happening, asked for her mother but the woman responded only by shushing her. Branwen suspected that the woman was Allas but couldn't tell in the dark, and that she was not supposed to be fed.

It was sometime the next day that the cellar door opened. A loud click woke Branwen from a daze and she squinted as the light streamed in. The form in front of her was unknown to her and she couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. The person was covered from head to toe in a towering brown robe and wore a strange pointed hat. Slowly Branwen began to register who she was seeing, and after noting the clothes, could come to only one conclusion; that it was a member of the church to take her away.

She began to cry and scream, backing away into the far corner of the cellar. "No!" she yelled at the person, pushing her body as far from them as possible.

"Hush, child," came a man's calm voice. "I am here to help you," he said.

Branwen shook her head. She knew what the church did with those they deemed witches. "No, you're here to take me away I know it!"

"Don't worry, child. I'll take you with me if, and only if you want me to. I am here to protect you. Do you understand? I am a wizard, just like you are a witch," he said.

Branwen only heard the last portion of his words. "No, I'm not a witch! I'm not! Please, don't hurt me!" she half yelled, half cried.

"What makes you think I would hurt you?" he asked.

"It's what you people do!" she said as she broke down and began to cry.

"And just what people do you think I would be?" he asked.

Branwen continued to cry as she spoke. "Monks, churchmen, the people who burn women for being witches."

To Branwen's great surprise the man began to laugh. "Oh, I am no monk. Though I can understand your confusion. I am just like you, a wizard, a magician or sorcerer, if you prefer," he said calmly.

"I don't trust you," she said. "How do I know you're not going to take me away?"

"I am only here to help you. My name is Gabriel. Gabriel Henry Gryffindor," he introduced himself. "Please come out, child. I promise I will not take you anywhere unless you choose to come with me," he said, extending his hand.

Branwen hesitated. He looked like a monk and talked like one, but there was in his voice a strange and trusting quality she wasn't used to. Slowly, she took his hand and let him help her out of the cellar. Her body ached as she stood up; she was tired and weak from being shut up in the root store.

"Come, sit down," he said as he guided her to a large grain sack to sit down upon. "Are you hungry?" he asked her.

She nodded not knowing precisely when she had been brought the food before. Gabriel removed what looked like a stick from the pocket of his robes, twirled it, and before her eyes he had conjured a large loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese. Branwen couldn't help but gawk as the man handed her the food.

"How did you do that?" she asked and looked at the man's face in more detail. His eyes were blue and kind and his hair was a dark brown nearing on black. There were a few spots of gray in it and there were small wrinkles upon his face but he looked to be of middle years more than old.

He winked at her. "I told you, I am a wizard. You did know that you are a witch, did you not?"

Her eyes narrowed as she thought about how to respond. "I don't like that word," she said finally.

"Would you prefer the term sorceress?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I suppose it doesn't matter much does it?"

"No, not much. But back to the question, did you know that you were able to perform magic?" he asked again.

Branwen decided she could trust this man enough to answer truthfully. "Yes, I guess so."

"And did you also know that there were a great many more people in the world with this gift?" he asked.

"I thought that they all left with Merlin?" she said.

"Well, not exactly. In days long past the Magical and Muggle worlds lived basically together. Since the days of King Arthur and the rise of the new religion it has become more and more difficult to do so. Now we live separately in most ways. It's better this way. No more kings asking wizards to interfere and solve all their problems anymore. Best to leave the Muggles to themselves," he said.

"What's a muggle?" she asked while stuffing her mouth full of bread.

"An ordinary person. A non-magical, like all the people here," he explained.

She swallowed the rest of her food and sat for a moment. She hadn't really decided yet if she really trusted this man.

"Feel better?" he asked.

Branwen just nodded.

"Well, are you going to tell me your name?" he asked her.

She smiled. "Branwen," she whispered.

"So Branwen. Since you know that you are a-sorceress-and you quite obviously know of the dangers of being branded a witch, I would like to offer you a proposal," he began. "Since the magical world and Muggle world are separate now, we try very hard to come and help those born to Muggle families and bring them into the magical community. It has long been a family tradition, you might say. I would like to offer you the opportunity to join us, the wizards and witches of England."

Branwen had no idea what to do. "Where would you be taking me?" she asked carefully.

"First, we would go to Lundenwic. There a few things I would like to buy for you. A wand, for instance," he took out again what Branwen first thought was merely a stick. "Some new robes and other things, but then I would like to take you to my home. There I would begin your instruction."

"Instruction in what?" she asked.

"In magic, dear child, though I expect there will be a few other things I must teach you first," he said.

"How are you going to do that? I belong to Lord Evens," she asked.

Gabriel smiled. "Quite simply. I am going to buy you," he explained.

Branwen didn't like the sound of that. "And will I be your slave then?"

He shook his head. "No, child. No man can truly own another. It will merely be a formality. After I purchase you, I will set you free. You may then do whatever you wish. I hope you decide to come with me. If not, you may go wherever you please."

Branwen thought for a minute. There wasn't really all that much to decide. If she stayed, Lord Evens had already said that he was going to turn her in as a witch. She'd most likely die then. But leaving her mother terrified her. She had hoped that Gabriel would give her time to decide, but they began to hear movement above them.

Gabriel Gryffindor stood up, stretching slightly as he did so. "Well, would you care to join me?" he asked, extending his hand.

She nodded and took the kind man's hand. Branwen shook as she walked up the stairs to the kitchens. Pots and pans were clanging and it took a moment before everyone realized there were as a stranger walking about the place as though he belonged there, the child's hand in his own. Everyone stopped what he or she was doing, but no one said anything. Through the side of her eye, she saw the head cook whisper to one of the serving men.

"Quick, tell the Lord," she told him and the boy fled upstairs.

Branwen didn't stop for any of her possessions. They all technically belonged to Lord Evens anyway. She only hoped she would see her mother before they left even though the prospect of saying goodbye was not pleasant.

It was as they were entering the courtyard outside that Evens tried to stop them.

"Just what do you think you are doing?" he demanded of Gryffindor.

Branwen looked up at him, her whole body wanting to shake. He smiled and winked at her.

"My Lord," said Gabriel, turning and bowing to him. "I am glad I have found you so quickly. I understand this has been a troublesome slave," he pointed to Branwen. "I have need of a girl servant. I would like to buy her from you."

Evens chewed his cheek as he contemplated the situation. "Who are you? The girl is not for sale!" he said hotly.

Now Branwen really did start shaking. "My name is Gabriel Henry Gryffindor, my Lord. You may remember me form some time ago," he said smoothly.

"I do, man. And my answer for her is the same as it was for her mother. She is not for sale," he shouted.

"Exactly what use is she to you?" he asked. "I don't believe you're planning to keep her are you?"

"She is a devil-child! I've already spoken to the Bishop. It's to be the sack for her in the morrow," he pronounced.

Unlike in other times, then the sack meant that the child would be stripped and tied into a sack with a venomous adder snake. Branwen whimpered and held tightly onto Gabriel's robes, fearing that not even he could save her.

"Well, since she is to be 'removed' from your service, why not permit me to purchase her instead. Whatever trouble she may have caused here, I am sure I can pay a compensatory fee that as well as the child." He removed several gold coins from his pocket.

Lord Evens starred greedily at them. He was offering an enormous sum for a young slave. "Just what do you plan for her?" he demanded.

Gabriel smiled. "Oh I am sure I'll find she posseses a talent I'll be able to use," he said simply. "Are you agreeing to sell her?"

Evens chewed at his cheek again. "I haven't decided. Just how much more gold have you got? She's been a terrible burden for longer than I care to think."

"I think I can manage a few more gold pieces for her," he pulled a few more from his pocket. "Are there any other claims that need to be addressed before I take this property from you," he asked carefully.

At this Branwen looked carefully at the man she knew to be her father, though he had never been anything but a tyrant and Lord over her. If he publicly claimed her as his child, that alone could prevent her from being executed for witchcraft. The man looked back at her, but his face was cold and unfeeling.

"No, there is nothing!" he said. "Give the page the coins and go with the brat!" he said.

Branwen felt a surge of relief; she was saved. Her mother edged to the front of the crowd. Gabriel felt her eyes on her mother. He knew it was hopeless, but wanted to try anyway. "And what of the mother? I'm sure I could afford to pay for her as well," he said, dipping his hand deeper into his pockets.

"No!" Evens shouted. "That one is not for sale at any price," he said. "Take the witch-babe before I change my mind!" With that he turned and stormed off into the manor.

Gabriel paid the boy, who carried the gold coins back to his Lord more carefully than he had carried anything else in his life. Most of the household went inside, but her mother stayed back to thank Gryffindor for saving her child.

"How can I thank you?" she asked him. "You've saved her."

He smiled at the lovely woman. Cartima was shapely and voluptuous like a ripe fruit begging to be plucked. Above her bosom was a large brass pendant suspended from a silk cord. Ahe always wore it, her long brown curls dancing around the amulet. It was no wonder that the Lord refused to sell her. She was by far one of the most handsome slaves, or ladies for that matter.

"It is my honor lady. I will return and try to free you once more, do not fear," he said to her kindly.

"As long as she is safe, I am happy," said lovely Cartima. She then turned to her daughter. "Study hard, and be good."

Branwen embraced her mother, trying not to cry. Her throat felt dry as a desert, there were a million things she wanted to say to her but they simply could not escape her lips and were left forever unsaid. Evens was inside bellowing for Cartima, and she could stay no longer.

"Never forget I love you, daughter," she said, running back into the manor.

All Branwen could do was wave.

** ** **

It took Branwen quite a while to get accustomed to her new life. Gryffindor's home was the largest she had ever dared to think about. It was, in reality, a palace and several hundred people lived there. It lay far in the north on England just south of the wall a strang and long dead Roman Emperor had built to separate the land and keep out the Scottish clans.

Branwen liked the wall. She walked there often. It was a tall stone barrier that dwarfed anything around it. For some reason she liked to feel small. It reminded her of being a child. More than five years had passed since she had come to Gryffindor Hall. There were about a dozen Muggle-born children there. Most were like her when they arrived, penniless and illiterate. Branwen had found it very difficult to learn how to read, but Gabriel insisted she must before he would begin her magical instruction.

Life was strange from then on. She spent her days in study with the other children, including Gabriel's son Geoffrey. They spent a great deal of time together. Gabriel would be away a good deal of the time searching for more muggle-born wizards, leaving Geoffrey lonely. Every time he would return there would be a celebration. Most of the time there would be new children with him. Some stayed while others Gryffindor found homes with other wizard families.

Most were happy to help the young witches and wizards. Some, like the Slytherin family, were not. Julius and his sons came to many of Gabriel's annual celebrations. Branwen would hear him and Gryffindor talking. Gabriel tried hard to change his friend's opinions but was never really successful. Whenever Julius was around Branwen and the other Muggle-borns he would wriggle his nose as though he were smelling something terribly foul and say words that she and the other knew to be terrible and offensive. No one ever said anything to Gabriel. They all knew that the two were friends and Julius never really did anything to any of them, but they all hated him just the same.

At sixteen Branwen and the others of her age went off to find apprenticeships: the old and time-honored tradition of magical learning. She hated leaving Geoffrey but he was to go to his own. Branwen went to Lundenwic where she studied to become a healer but her heart was never really in it. She missed her mother and Gryffindor Hall and Geoffrey. She was not the best of healing students. She found herself wandering around the countryside a lot and once found herself near her old home.

She didn't know what she expected to find, but the fearful faces that failed to greet her were not welcoming. They curtly told her that Cartima had died years ago in childbirth along with the babe and asked her to leave before Lord Evens learned that she was there. Only as she was walking away did someone attempt to be nice to her. A young woman, Branwen vaguely recognized her as the child that she had so long ago saved by wolves, ran after her. She smiled but didn't say anything, and before Branwen could say hello the child thrust a little leather pouch in her hand and ran off.

Branwen opened it to find the lovely brass necklace her mother was so fond of. She smiled and placed the amulet around her throat. She never knew what the strange animal on it was, but liked to look at the carving of the not quite a lion, not quite an eagle creature. She then returned to Gryffindor manor, abandoning her healing studies.

Geoffrey had also not done particularly well in his apprenticeship. Eventually Gabriel took their education in hand and had them help him scour the country for magical children and help bring them forth to the magical world. They were married at the wall two years later and throngs of the children Gabriel had rescued over the years cheered at the newlyweds.

It took several years for Gabriel to transfer all the skills necessary for Branwen and Geoffrey to assume his role and help Muggle born witches and wizards. He was getting quite old and son and daughter-in-law were very good at the job that had once been his pride and joy. It was a difficult job, finding and educating all the lost wizards of England. Many times the couple would find themselves thinking that there had to be an easier way.

It would be great many years until their son Godric would finally solve the problem and decide to open a school where anyone could go to live and learn magic. He was not young by the time he set out to his life's work but more than able transform his family's tradition of educating Muggle-born children into the world's greatest magical school ever.

He did, of course, have the help of three spectacular friends who founded the school together with him, but that is yet another story. . .